


A Loan Before Winter

by beng



Series: Mirrors and Manuscripts [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Dragon Age II - Act 2, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Orlesian rugs, Relationships with one's space and stuff, pre-Merrill/Varric if you squint right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:28:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27478057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beng/pseuds/beng
Summary: Merrill has never owned much, and for a nomadic people forced to rely only on their own crafts and resources, zero waste is kind of an ingrained principle with the Dalish.Varric, on the other hand, is a fan of quality shit.Enter one completely frivolous halla figurine and see what happens ;)
Relationships: Hawke & Merrill (Dragon Age), Merrill & Varric Tethras
Series: Mirrors and Manuscripts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2009392
Comments: 10
Kudos: 9





	A Loan Before Winter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hollyand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyand/gifts), [Cartadwarfwithaheartofgold (manka)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/manka/gifts).



> Holly & Manka, you — and the fandom positivity you so generously spread — have been an inspiration at a time when I can't make myself write my usual WIPs, so thanks to you, rarepair oneshots it is! <3

“Ma serannas! I’ll find a good place for this!” Carved by one of her clansmen, the halla figurine feels like a greeting from her old home, it’s beautiful, and a glowing warmth spreads in Merrill’s chest. 

“You have some fine real estate right there,” Hawke lightly chuckles and gestures at her shelves, largely empty even after four years in Kirkwall. “I never realised you have so few things, Merrill.”

“I have... what can be carried in an aravel,” she stammers, knowing how foolish she must sound, but still she can’t stop smiling. “And no one has ever given me a present before. Useful things: tools or clothes. Because I needed them, not — just because.”

“You live in Kirkwall now.” Hawke smiles at her, humour crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Hoard all the pretty things you want. Stock up for the winter, start a collection! Let me or Varric know if you need more shelves or anything.”

He leaves, and for a while Merrill can still hear him chuckling to himself as his steps recede.

Merrill holds the halla as reverently as the finest treasure, eyes wandering over her empty shelves and tables. And for the first time since she’s settled in Kirkwall, Merrill realises just how much _space_ she has all to herself, to fill with things she likes and not have to worry if they would fit inside her wagon or if they'd break on the road.

Why had she just recently complained to Isabela that nothing exciting happens in her life?

 _Things_ could happen!

*

“Varric, I was wondering-” She almost trips over his boots lying right in front of his door as she enters. Magic comes to her as naturally as breathing, gravity shifting around her, and she rights herself with little effort. “That is, I know it sounds strange, but...” 

“Daisy! Come in.” The dwarf is watching her with curiosity, sprawled comfortably in a low sitting chair before a fire, a glass tumbler of whiskey in his hand gleaming warm amber like his eyes. “You usually leave your ball of twine by the door downstairs.”

Merrill blinks, thrown. For one, he is right, she... must have forgot she needs it, and the whole ball is in her hand, not unravelled from Alienage to here; but for another... his bare feet have curly hairs on the tops of his toes and they are buried in the fluffiest, softest rug she’s ever seen. 

“Is that new?” She moves closer, taking in the patterns of midnight blues and sunset reds, and the thick white tassels.

Varric cocks his head as he grins back at her. “My, my. You’ve finally learned your route to the Hanged Man. That calls for a celebration, don't you think?” He gets up, heavy-limbed and languid like the oxen Merrill sometimes sees pulling cargo around the Docks. Except several times smaller, of course. And not so horny. Is that an alright thing to say, or should she better keep it to herself? It appears humans and dwarves have some problem with horns, oxen or Qunari; at least she thinks Aveline mentioned something like that, and Isabela had laughed.

Her halla has truly intricate horns though. Merrill perks up again.

“It is indeed new. Orlesian stuff, and worth every coin,” Varric meanwhile continues over his shoulder as he rummages through a cupboard looking for another tumbler. Merrill knows he has seven.

She takes another step and lets her toes sink into the amazing thing Varric has on his floor. 

“Do you think this is what a cloud feels like?” she wonders happily. 

Varric chuckles.

"Not sure I ever want to be touching a cloud, Daisy.” He pours her a bit of whiskey and then drops back into his armchair, complete with a silk pillow, a pile of books by his feet and a stack of letters on one of the armrests. Fire is crackling quietly in the grate, the heavy oak door blocking most sounds from the noisy tavern downstairs. "I'm happy with my feet on the ground, not head in the clouds. So what brought you here? Is everything alright?"

"Everything has been quite calm in the Alienage lately." Merrill sits cross-legged on the beautiful rug and smiles up at him. She doesn't quite dare try the drink yet, she suspects it's one of those strong ones that might make her cough and splutter. Still, it's nice that Varric doesn't make any fuss about it — Aveline or Anders would — and she will maybe actually try it, a bit later perhaps. With the fire shining through the glass, it is a very pretty colour.

"You have so many things," she notes, glancing around his large sitting room. "And now a new rug too! I mean, it's a lot. But you like all these things, don't you? You like surrounding yourself with beautiful things."

Varric takes a strange look at her, sitting on his rug, and she sees him swallow thickly. Merrill curses her runaway mouth again.

Flustered, she sips at the drink, and promptly feels tears gathering in her eyes as her throat burns. 

"Relax, Daisy," Varric tells her, stretching out his legs and watching her with a half-smirk as she sputters. "It tastes better when you're relaxed."

She wants to, she does. At least she knows that Varric doesn't usually get upset when she says something wrong, and that helps with relaxing. In fact, she has always found him remarkably easy to talk to. It was mostly thanks to him that her humour had not shrivelled up and died completely as she suspected it would, after what felt like _years_ of nobody getting her jokes. But comfy, low chairs and pillows that seem to be working for Varric have never quite worked for her, and so she just scoots closer to the fireplace and leans slightly forward over her crossed legs, letting the warmth seep into her face and chest. Outside, the wind is rising from the sea. The weather is getting cooler, and perhaps she should think about stocking up for winter. Remembering Hawke's suggestion, she suddenly remembers why she came.

"Hawke came by this morning." Her throat feels better already, and she smiles up at Varric again. "Can I borrow some of your things?"

The dwarf blinks. Poor Varric. It must have been a long day, fighting with that Guild and all those other people he usually grumbles about. 

"What things?" he asks.

"Oh, I don't know." Merrill shuffles around to have a better view of his suite. "Hawke thinks I should have more things, and he's probably right — everyone living in Kirkwall seems to have a lot of possessions — except maybe Isabela, but she used to have a whole _ship_ , and..." She frowns as another thought occurs to her. "And Fenris, I think. But I don't particularly want to talk to him, I will have to tell Hawke to tell him that."

"Well, there's also Blondie, so..." Varric waves his hand in confusion. "You want more things? My things?"

"Just as a loan!" Merrill rushes to clarify. "I don't know what things I want, or even what would fit in my home properly... The Dalish just don't throw things away if they don't like them! And what if I don't like them? I don't know who I could give them to. Maybe Anders? Or that nice lady by the Docks who is always helping people?"

Varric chuckles. "Daisy. You don't even have any unwanted things yet, and you're already planning who to give them to."

Merrill hides her face in her palms. "I'm making a mess of this, no?"

Varric puts down his glass and stretches, and if Merrill blushes at how his favourite red shirt pulls across his broad shoulders, she'll rather write it down to her general embarrassment at her foolish request, which she starts to realise is not something people _do_.

"So what do you want to borrow from my stuff?" he asks, standing up and overlooking the cosy room. He still looks confused, but in an amused sort of way. "Would you like to try having more books, Daisy? You do like to read, don't you?"

"Of- of course!" Merrill springs to her feet, easily dancing around the glass of drink she's left on the carpet. "I think I would like that! And... and maybe a few of your throw pillows? If you don't mind lending them to me for a few days?" She worriedly glances down at Varric. 

"I don't mind too terribly," the dwarf graciously agrees. He picks up a few silk pillows from the other armchair and glances around his room again, warm and relaxed, and so very generous that Merrill feels a lump growing in her throat, and it has nothing to do with the biting alcohol she tried earlier.

"I'll pack some books and send them to you tomorrow. You like novels, right?"

Merrill nods.

"Hmm, what else?"

"Could I borrow some of those fat, heavy glasses?" she timidly asks. "You have seven, right?"

She'd like to see how it feels having the right glassware at home, to serve Varric his favourite drink if he visits. She would like it if he visited more often. Maybe he would, if he felt more like at home?

Or, maybe she would just feel foolish, staring at those glasses when he doesn't come.

Varric scratches his head, watching her with questions in his eyes, but then shrugs and crouches down by the low cabinet.

"Huh. You're right, there are five more in here."

He pulls out two and puts them with the pillows on his messy writing desk. Merrill is standing on the rug again, her toes curling absent-mindedly against the soft material as she looks around, wondering what else she might want to try having at her home and what might be not _too_ preposterous to ask. She knows the whole idea must make her look strange, or stupid — maybe both; but she does want to try Hawke's advice, and she doesn't know what she _wants_ , in terms of things — though a working Eluvian, or at least some detailed instructions from the ancestors would be helpful — or maybe a pretty box, because her ball of twine keeps falling off the shelf, or—

"Know what, Daisy? Take that rug too."

"Varric!" Merrill turns to him sharply, eyes wide, and she swears her heart just skipped a beat. "I can't take your beautiful rug! You just got it!"

"Eh, it's just some pretty Orlesian shit. And you'd be borrowing it."

Merrill shakes her head. "I can't, Varric. It must cost a fortune!"

The dwarf grins. "Then how are you going to figure out if you want a rug at home? You need to borrow this one to check."

Merrill blinks as another revelation starts dawning.

Wants. Needs.

"I- I think I have to go now, Varric. Ma serannas. Thank you. I'll just.. go."

The dwarf grins as he sees her out, a heavy hand pressed against her lower back steering her gently around the muddy boots still lying on the floor.

"I'll have all the stuff delivered to your house tomorrow," he says, and Merrill nods, only half-listening. "Keep it as long as you need. In fact, it's getting a bit cramped in here, so you'd be doing me a favour if you kept some of the books permanently. Pick whichever you like."

Merrill nods again. Somehow she half-expected he'd say that.

She turns in the corridor, catching a wistful smile on Varric's face, quickly replaced by his usual grin as he folds his arms and leans against the doorframe. Sounds of voices and laughter travel up the stairs.

"Varric?"

"Yes, Daisy?"

"All those things you always give me... were those gifts?"

The dwarf cocks an eyebrow. "If I've given you stuff, you probably needed it."

"The ball of twine, maybe. But when you asked me to not wander around Lowtown at night? Or the gardens in Hightown? You were doing those things for me, and that's... a gift too?"

Varric rolls his eyes. "Look. You're Dalish. You go where you want. And you _need_ all that growing stuff, or you'll wilt."

"And the rug?"

Varric shrugs. "It's a loan."

But she feels that neither of them quite believe that. Somehow, she knows he'll ask the rug back no sooner than in spring. 

With something tight in her chest, Merrill can only bite her lip and nod. She needs some fresh air, as fresh as it can be in Lowtown. And probably she needs to think a bit. With a waved farewell and another stammered 'thank you' she manages to skip down the stairs and slip through the roaring tavern without any further trouble.

How had she never realised?

Back home — and apparently she really doesn't need her twine anymore to find her way between Varric's home and hers — she crouches down by the wooden halla sitting proudly on a small table by her bedside and gently runs a finger over the intricately carved horns.

"I think you are not my first present, little one."

  



End file.
